


Helix

by Zarla



Category: Star Control
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bad Decisions, Dreams, Drugs, M/M, bodyguards, idle rich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-03
Updated: 2009-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-06 04:36:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zarla/pseuds/Zarla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Admiral ZEX is a brilliant and "eccentric" military genius with a deep fondness for humanity. Max Vyer is a irresponsible, self-centered man-child who doesn't have enough common sense to make change for a clue. What would make one assume the identity of the other, and why?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Direct result of spending too much time brainstorming ZEX's alternate life as Max and how he "went crazy" for an RP I'm in. This fic kind of occupies a weird place in that it doesn't really seem to completely belong anywhere. It kind of walks a thin line between original fic and being too tied in to one canon or the other to really stand on its own. Like an AU-AU, if that makes sense?

Max Vyer had dreams.

He had the normal kind -- ones about his normal life with subtle changes, bizarre ones that haphazardly mixed together reality and fantasy, or idle ones during the day that amused him when he was bored, which was fairly often. Nothing unusual there, necessarily. Everyone had dreams like that.

It was when one of his classes made him keep a dream diary that Max began to notice there was a theme to his stranger dreams. He'd previously written them off as consequences for watching bad movies or eating something strange, or from getting drunk when he was really bored and didn't think anyone would catch him.

But now he saw there was a pattern.

He told Dexter about it when he noticed it, laughing nervously just in case Dexter thought he was serious, and Dexter gave him his usual unimpressed look and told him to get back to his schoolwork.

Probably nothing, but he kept writing them down.

His stranger dreams continued to add up, began to build the framework of a bizarre reality that followed him. Now that he noticed it, he found it hard not to think about it. Did it mean something, that he was having these sorts of dreams? That they were so consistent, in their own bizarre way?

"I'm surprised you think that dreaming about aliens makes you unusual, sir," Dexter told him when he showed him the notes he'd compiled over a month or so. "You're unusual enough without extraterrestrials being involved."

"I'm not dreaming _about_ aliens, Dex, I'm dreaming that I _am _one," Max responded, annoyed that Dexter didn't get it. Dexter never really "got" his ideas, and admittedly several of them (most of them... _maybe _all of them) had not been particularly good or well thought out, but this was different. "The same one, every time!"

Max pointed to the drawing that he'd made of the alien creature that showed up so often in his thoughts -- one-eyed and hideous, head covered with tentacles, a trunk with a long tongue and two tentacle arms.

"You read too much Lovecraft, sir."

"This isn't Lovecraft, Dex. Lovecraft is _boring_. This is different."

"Have you finished your homework, sir?"

Dexter was always so practical.

The dreams did not stop, and instead only became more frequent, more incessant. Every night or so now he learned something new about the strange alien species, and his role within it kept evolving.

"I'm a commander there now, you know," Max said once, while Dexter was tying his tie for him.

"Where, sir?" Although Dexter knew very well what Max was talking about.

"In that space world, with those aliens. I was promoted to commander last night."

"Really."

"They're still fighting that war against us humans. But I don't think they want to... or I don't think _I _want to. The alien me. I don't think he wants to do it."

"Then why would you be promoted, sir?" Dexter batted his hand away when he tried to adjust his tie himself. Max frowned.

"Alien-me is smart, Dex. He's brilliant, actually, a military genius! So he _has_ to save his species, whether he wants to or not."

Dexter raised an eyebrow, still very much unimpressed. "Really."

"Yes," Max said, insistent as always in the face of Dexter's disinterest. He paused for a moment, a bit thoughtful. "He wants something... I don't know what it is, but he... he wants something very badly, something he can't have."

For a moment Dexter's hands faltered on the buttons of his coat, the briefest glimpse of an unknown weakness. That was strange... Max didn't know why saying that would have any effect on Dexter at all, and then it was gone as soon as he glimpsed it, and he wondered if maybe he'd imagined it.

Dexter brushed off Max's shoulders, straightened his tie, and brushed some of his hair from his face in the same businesslike manner as always.

"You should be careful, sir," Dexter said. "They're just dreams. Talk about them too much and people might think you've gone mad."

"I'm not mad." Max rolled his eyes at the idea. "It's just... strange, don't you think? They keep coming, those dreams... like they're trying to tell me something."

"You don't think it has anything to do with your graduation, sir?" Dexter said, in that way where he was clearly implying that obviously it did have something to do with it. "After all, you've made no plans after your schooling."

"Mom and Dad want me to go to college."

"My statement still stands, sir."

Max looked off to one side. "Well, if they want me to go, there's not much I can do about it, is there?"

Dexter said nothing, which was about as far from a surprise as anyone could get. He _always _did this.

Max looked down and mumbled a bit. "At least the alien-me, at least he has some freedom."

"You're very good at playing the martyr for sympathy, sir," Dexter said, a bit sharply. "You don't appreciate what you have."

Max frowned and was going to cross his arms, but Dexter caught one hand halfway and started adjusting his cufflinks, thus putting a stop to that. "I don't want what I have."

"You say that, but you don't know the alternative," Dexter said, unaffected by Max's indignant tone, and he hated that sometimes. "We're going to be late. Madame Vyer's already upset about your behavior recently. I don't think we should antagonize her further."

Max sulked, and resolved not to talk to Dexter for the rest of the evening. He wasn't sure that Dexter noticed, or anyone noticed, since he wasn't intended to speak during the graduation ceremony anyway. He reminded himself that it was the principle of the thing that mattered.

He woke up at one point during the night, thirsty, and saw Dexter asleep on the couch in his room, still in his suit from earlier that night. His coat was slightly open.

He'd had dreams about Dexter as well, although he didn't share those with anyone, or his dream journal.

As for his other dreams, they kept coming.

"I had another dream last night, Dex," he said while they were packing up for his move to campus the next day.

Dexter made a noise that didn't necessarily mean he was interested, but rather that he'd heard the statement.

"That war they're in, it's really getting heated. I'm not sure which side is going to win."

"Aren't you supposed to be a military genius, sir?"

"Well, yes, but... there are a lot of other aliens involved in it too, it's complicated."

"Do you have your ticket ready for tomorrow, sir?"

"I'm sure it's around here somewhere. I think it's on my desk. Dex, could you come over here for a moment?"

Dexter did as he was asked, walking over to stand beside him in the bathroom doorway.

"Yes, sir?"

"You were in my dream last night, Dex."

Dexter blinked at him. "Really."

"You're a pilot in my squadron." Max looked at him, thoughts of tomorrow hanging over him, college and the paths of his life already laid out in front of him by his parents, no choice and no agency. He also thought of Dexter, standing there and staring at him in that way he always did, and of how often he thought of him. "You saved my life."

"I thought your dreams were usually more creative, sir."

"I guess..." Max said, then reached out and grabbed Dexter's tie, prompting an eyebrow raise. "I always want you to protect me, wherever we are."

For a moment, Dexter seemed to struggle with words, and he took hold of Max's hand to try and make him let go. "If you're a military genius in your alien fantasy, then you wouldn't need me to protect you, sir."

"I don't need you, Dex," Max said in what he was sure was a cavalier way, and he returned Dexter's somewhat annoyed look with a charming smile. "I said I want you."

Dexter managed to get out a "sir" before Max pulled him down by his tie and kissed him. It only lasted a few seconds before Dexter pushed him away.

"No, sir," he said, and then he walked out of the room.

Max, fortunately, knew where his parents hid all the alcohol, and also the key to where it was locked away.

He was severely hung over the next day, and didn't remember most of the trip to campus, or even moving in. He almost wanted Dexter to apologize for rejecting him, but of course Dexter didn't. As it was, Dexter said little, although he was sure he was disappointed in him for getting drunk again, and that was why he was staying away from him.

They never talked about that kiss again. Almost like it never happened, or at least, that's how Dexter acted.

In his dreams, he saved Dexter's life. Swooped in heroically, saved him from the grip of death at the last minute. His dreams always had a nice theatrical touch. He was congratulated, complimented on his skill and ability and bravery. DreamDexter had said nothing, only wiggling his head feelers in a way he knew was thankful, somewhere.

Max wrote their dream names in the only notebook he'd ever managed to keep for more than a week. Large, black, capital letters. It was soothing, somehow, how simple they were. He ended up filling an entire page with their names, the page opposite of the dates of each battle in the stars he waged, their fleet numbers and reports of those who opposed him.

It occupied his thoughts more and more often.

Dexter kept watch over him as he adjusted to college life, cleaned him up after long hazy nights, threw away pills that really cost him a lot and he was not happy about that, and it was probably Dexter's influence, stern and unyielding, that kept him focused at all on what he was supposed to be doing. The coursework was difficult and boring; he really had no aptitude for any of this. He had no idea what he was even going to do for the rest of his life, and Dexter had made it clear that being drunk or high was not an option. He really couldn't take a joke.

"I did very well in battle yesterday," Max said, when Dexter crossed his arms and demanded to know how he'd failed his midterm. "They're talking of promoting me again. They gave me a medal."

"You'll give your mother a heart attack at this rate."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

Dexter sighed a bit. "Do you really enjoy being a disappointment, sir?"

That stung a little, and Max crossed his arms in response, frowning. "I don't care about disappointing_ them_, if that's what you mean. I don't care what they think."

Dexter paused for a moment, regarding him in that judgmental way he really didn't like. "_I _expect better of you, sir."

Max stared at him, strangely hurt and angry at that. "Well maybe you _shouldn't_, Dex, then maybe we'd _all_ be happy."

He stormed out of his room and slammed the door, then paused. He turned around and poked his head back in to see Dexter was standing in the same place he was before, apparently totally unaffected by his words or how he'd left the room. Infuriating as always.

"If you'd just seen me last night, you would have been impressed _then_," Max said, and then he slammed the door again for emphasis.

"Your dreams aren't real, sir," he heard Dexter call from behind the door, although he pretended he didn't.

He really was so frustrating at times.

The dreams continued.

"I think the Ur-Quan have something up their sleeve," Max said one night, when he was coming home from school for the summer. "I think maybe the war will end soon."

"There is no war, sir." Dexter barely reacted to talk of his dreams anymore. "There are no aliens."

"Some kind of secret weapon." Max played with Dexter's hair from the back-seat, trying to see if he could make him twitch. Dexter tensed up, but kept his attention firmly focused on the road. "That'll probably win the war for them. Even my military genius can't do everything."

"You're certainly not a military genius, sir."

"I could be." Max huffed and tugged at Dexter's hair. "If I wanted to be."

"I doubt it, sir. You have no attention span."

"I do too have an attention span." Max leaned back into his seat and crossed his arms. "You really have no faith in me at all!"

"I just know you too well, sir," Dexter said.

His parents had forbidden talk of his dreams when he was at home. They found it upsetting.

His second year, he was batting a pencil around his desk in his dorm room while Dexter was reading a book nearby.

"I think I know what he wants."

"What are you talking about, sir?"

"My dream me, I think I know what he wants. I told you about how he wanted something?"

"I remember."

"I think... he really wants a human."

"As what, a pet?"

"No, I mean... I think maybe he really loves humans."

Dexter said nothing. Max balanced the pencil on its tip. "I think he maybe wants to love a human, but his species won't let him. They really don't like humans, you know. They think it's 'unnatural'. But I think that's what he wants. What he really wants, aside from all this war business."

He flipped the pencil off his desk, not lifting his head from his arms. "Isn't that sad, Dex? He can't have what he wants, just 'cause people don't approve... even if he's a real important hero, he can't have what he wants."

It took a while before Dexter said something.

"You should get back to work, sir."

Dexter never talked about Max's dreams unless he brought them up.

Time went on. The dreams never stopped. He'd filled up two notebooks already, and was working on his third.

"The war is over, Dex," Max said one day, sometime near the end of his third year, while Dexter was ironing one of his shirts. "We won."

"That's nice, sir." Dexter wasn't listening to him.

"Well, it's kind of sad... that means the humans lost."

"Does it, sir."

"Yeah. They've been trapped forever on Earth." Max leaned back in his chair, balancing on the back two legs. "I guess now dream me will never have a human of his own. But at least the fighting's over."

"I suppose, sir."

"Do you know what you're doing, Dex?"

"I have no idea, sir."

"We were always working together, so now you're my sub-commander," Max said, gesturing to the ceiling. "I'm an admiral, you know. Have I mentioned that?"

"Yes, sir." Dexter held up the shirt for a moment and inspected it before pulling another one out of the basket of clothes by his side.

"We've got all these medals and everything. We're real heroes." Max smiled. "I can't wait until we get to go back to homeworld and see what everyone says about us. They definitely can't control me if I saved their whole race, can they?"

"Why, are you planning something, sir?" Still distracted, and still probably not really listening. Max leaned back a bit too far in his chair and ended up falling over. That derailed the conversation quickly enough, although he was pretty sure Dexter wasn't sorry for the interruption.

It wasn't too long after that that his dreams started taking a more unpleasant turn. Max was not happy about this.

"You can't lie in bed all day, sir, you have a final to take." Dexter shook his shoulder. Max held his pillow over his head.

"They turned on me, Dex, can you believe it?" he said, miserable, and he heard Dexter sigh. "All of them, they turned on me! Just because I didn't hate humans and I didn't do what they wanted and I wasn't _normal_, they turned on me!"

"Sir, this is not the time-" Dexter was exasperated, that much was clear. Well, Max wasn't feeling much better.

"I think they're going to banish me. After everything I did for them! Ungrateful wretches." Max sniffed angrily. "I shouldn't have worked that hard to save them, if they were just going to betray me like that. Persecution, that's what it is!"

"Sir, your final."

"I don't want to do anything today." Max buried his head further into the mattress and tightened his hold on his pillow. "I'm deeply hurt by this, Dex. I really am."

"It's a dream, sir. It's not real." Dexter tugged at his blankets, and Max made an angry sound in response. "Get out from under there, or I'll drag you out myself."

"Well, I'm not going to let them banish me. Let's see them try!"

Dexter sighed, then he reached down and grabbed Max around his middle and dragged him off the bed, along with the blanket and the pillow. Despite his shouts of "Stop it!" and "No!", Dexter forcibly dragged him, kicking and struggling, across the floor into the bathroom.

After a shower he felt a bit better, although he wasn't going to admit that to Dexter of course, who was glaring at him when he came out again. Dexter's threat that if he didn't cooperate he'd stay there and _watch_ him take a shower was effective, but probably not for the reasons that Dexter was thinking.

He hadn't stopped having dreams about him either.

If Dexter hadn't been watching him when he walked into the building for his final, he probably would have skipped the entire affair, but as it was he went inside and halfheartedly answered some of the questions, doodling in the margins for about half of the time allotted to him. The images he saw were clearer and clearer with each dream... the society and species he belonged to more distinct and deepening in nuance every day. Far more fascinating than some junk about a book some guy wrote a hundred years ago.

Max knew he didn't do well, but he didn't really care. What did it matter, if even someone as decorated and amazing as his dream self could just be betrayed like that? Life really wasn't fair.

He did manage to give Dexter the slip afterwards, rather cleverly he thought, and by the time he found him again he was already high as a kite, so he considered that a success at least.

"It's all pointless, Dex," he mumbled from his vantage point slung over Dexter's shoulder. "What does it matter, in the end? Even admirals can't get what they want."

"If it wasn't my job to take care of you, sir, I'd kill you."

"Well maybe I'll just kill myself instead and save you the trouble," Max said, spitefully and a bit stupidly. "It's not like it matters."

Dexter heaved a sigh, rolling his eyes no doubt, and he loaded him into the car.

A week or so later, they were home again. His parents kept telling him to apply himself. Max didn't see the point. If hard work and sacrifice got you nowhere, why not just have as much fun as you can?

He was sprawled out on a bench in the garden one night, watching moths flit around one of the lamps that lit the grounds.

"Have you been out here all day, sir?" Dexter walked up one of the paths, wearing his workout clothes and carrying a glass of water. "Surely you have better things to do. Your parents expect your grades to get better by the next semester."

"They're calling it a 'retirement', Dex." Max held up a hand, grabbing at some of the moths idly. "They're going to banish him to another planet, and they're going to call it a retirement so no one knows why."

Dexter gave a long sigh, standing beside the bench and taking a sip of his water. Some of his dark hair was stuck to his forehead. "If everyone in this fantasy of yours already thinks he's a 'corruptive influence', then why would they need to call it a retirement?"

"Can you believe it? It's so unfair. He never did anything wrong." Max stared at the sky, then stared at Dexter. His skin shone a bit in the light from the lamps... he'd probably come right out here after his workout. It was distracting. "All he wanted... he just wanted something, wanted to be friends with humans. Maybe love a human. There's nothing wrong with that, everyone just thinks there is. It's not fair, Dex."

"Sir..." Dexter shook his head, rubbed at his forehead with the back of one hand. "They're dreams. They don't mean anything."

"You're coming with me though. To this other new planet." Max smiled a bit. "You'd never turn on me."

Dexter paused before taking another sip of water. "You don't make it easy for me, sir. It's probably no easier in your dreams, either."

"Probably not." Max sat up, a bit dizzy and Dexter put a steadying hand on his shoulder. "I don't know what I'm going to do in my dreams now. There's no war."

"Maybe you should stop having them." A not-so-subtle hint.

"But my dream me, he wants... something. I bet he'll find something to do. He always has something planned. I bet he'll find a way to keep busy."

"Shouldn't you be looking for a summer job, sir?"

Max huffed, and he looked up to the sky. "It's such a pretty night out though, Dex. I'd hate to miss it."

Dexter followed his gaze for a moment, then took another sip of water as he knelt down beside the bench. Max was close enough to him that he could smell his sweat, and that other smell that Dexter always had around him. His soap or something, maybe.

"It must be nice to only have to be responsible in your dreams, sir," Dexter said, and Max always hated being scolded by him, he hated that he cared about it. "You can't do nothing for all your life."

"I'm not doing nothing," Max said, resentfully.

"What are you going to do when you graduate, sir? Do you have any plans at all?"

Max looked up at the moon. "Maybe I'll travel the world, or something... you know, open my mind to new experiences and maybe... write a book about it. Maybe I'll be a writer."

"I don't think your parents would be pleased."

"They don't run my life. I can be a writer if I want to be," Max said, grabbing at the moths with a bit more energy. "They don't control me."

"As long as you live here, they do." Dexter was so blunt. "You don't seem to be on the path to supporting yourself."

"I can support myself," Max snapped.

"You're not doing a very good job." Dexter stood up from where he was kneeling. "I'm going to take a shower."

"Fine." Max turned away from him and crossed his arms. Dexter left.

His dreams used to be interesting, but now they slowly began to focus on the mundane. His dream self moved to his new planet, set up his base there, began to catch different animals for his menagerie. All he got now were snapshots, pieces of certain days like the camera had changed its focus. Time was passing in his dreams a lot faster than in the real world.

He still preferred it to the real world, most of the time.

In the middle of his fourth year, during Christmas break when he was home for the holidays, Max walked into Dexter's room one night. Dexter was propped up in his bed against an assortment of pillows, reading a book. He had a quilt thrown over his legs.

Max came over to his bed and climbed up beside him. "What are you doing?"

"I'm reading." Dexter kept his eyes on his book.

"What's it about?"

Dexter just sighed, a bit annoyed, in response. Max moved a bit closer to him, noticing that Dexter gave him a sidelong glance, but did not respond. He shivered theatrically.

"It's too cold in my room."

"That's too bad, sir," Dexter said, still gamely trying to focus on his novel.

"Where did you get this blanket?" Max pulled it up over himself. "I don't have a blanket like this."

"You did, but you said you didn't care for the color."

"That's right." Max shifted a bit and rested his head against Dexter's shoulder. He briefly skimmed one of the sentences in the book but found it too boring to actually think about.

"Did you want something, sir?" Dexter said, a bit exasperated. He could tell that he was considering putting down his book and giving Max his full attention.

"Just wanted to bother you." Max tucked his hands up near his chest, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. "Am I doing a good job?"

Dexter sighed dramatically, and he closed the book, a finger between the pages to keep his place. "You're unparalleled, sir."

"That's one thing I'm good at, huh?" Max smiled a bit, although he wasn't sure if Dexter was watching him. "My parents are coming home tomorrow, right?"

"I'm picking them up at the airport at six in the morning." Dexter shifted his shoulder a bit, as if to tell Max to move, but Max was quite comfortable where he was. "I am going to have to get some sleep, so if you have any plans for tonight, I'm no part of them."

Max didn't say anything for a little while, and Dexter picked up his book again and went back to reading. He didn't push Max away, he simply adjusted to him.

"Dex..."

"Yes, sir?"

"Do you ever just want time to stop? Like... you never have to grow up, or be old, or do anything, and there's just this moment that lasts forever?" Max said.

Dexter thought for a few moments. "No, sir."

"My dream self, he's always doing something. Years have gone by there now, but he's always doing something." Max yawned. "I don't know how he does it... he's so motivated. I'd be happy if tonight just never ended."

"You'll be disappointed," Dexter said, turning a page.

"I just want to stay here, forever. Never have to worry about anything, or anyone else, or anything like that. Just... warm and safe."

"Safe, hmm?" A bit dryly, but he was almost positive that Dexter was smiling. Success!

"Your room is a lot warmer than mine." Max closed his eyes. "And it's more fun to bother you than it is to sit by myself."

"You're terribly lazy, sir."

"Maybe." Max sighed and curled up against Dexter's side.

"And clingy."

"Would you stop? I'm trying to have a moment with you. You make things so difficult." Max let out an annoyed huff. "I can't help being who I am, you know."

Dexter didn't say anything, and then he moved his arm and settled it around Max, adjusting himself a bit so he could still read.

"I know, sir," he said, Max liked to imagine fondly. He ended up falling asleep there, although Dexter was gone when he woke up.

Near the end of his fourth year, Max was watching Dexter as he did sit-ups at the end of his bed. The sound of his breathing, focused with his movements, was kind of hypnotizing.

"Do you know how long I've been on that planet, Dex?"

"This planet, sir?" After a few seconds to catch his breath.

"No, the one dream me was banished to. Do you know how long it's been now?"

Dexter made a questioning noise, returning to his sit-ups.

"It's been almost ten years over there." Max folded his arms behind his head. "Isn't that amazing? Ten years already passed over there, and so little time passes here."

"Mmf," was Dexter's reply.

"His zoo just gets bigger and bigger. He really likes animals," Max said, a bit wistfully. "I wish I could have a lot of animals like that."

Dexter paused, breathing a bit hard. "You can barely take care of yourself, let alone an animal, sir."

"I could, if I wanted to." Max frowned. "But he seems like he's happy. Dream me, I mean."

"Uh huh."

"I think he still wants a human though. Somewhere. But I don't know if he'll ever get one." Max sighed a little. "I feel kind of bad for him still."

"Sir, you have more important things to worry about." Dexter wiped some sweat from his forehead. "If you don't improve your grades, your parents are going to kill you. You have a test tomorrow, shouldn't you be studying?"

"Why should I? It doesn't really matter... like anyone in the _real_ world cares what some person named Kant had to say a hundred years ago." Max rolled over.

Dexter stopped and stood up, still breathing a bit hard.

"You don't know what the real world is, sir." And then he left to take his shower.

Max did so know what the real world was, he lived in it. And it was boring.

He graduated, somehow, and not that it really meant anything in the end, and he came home. Time continued to pass, as it always did. The boringness of it all was suffocating. He had nothing he wanted to do, and when he _did _want to do something, Dexter usually stopped him because it involved something fun and/or dangerous (was it his fault those two so often coincided?).

It was very late one night, near one or two AM, and Max was sitting at the island in the center of their kitchen, watching Dexter cook. Dexter's black hair was disheveled from being woken up so early, and he wasn't in the best of moods. Definitely not receptive to dream talk at the moment.

"I want to learn how to cook someday," Max said, idly. Dexter flipped the pan a little with a practiced movement, catching its contents even with his eyes half-closed.

"I wouldn't trust you near an open flame," Dexter said, a bit sleepily.

"You don't trust me with anything. You should teach me how, Dex. It could be fun." Max got up to stand next to him, and Dexter gave him a sidelong glance.

"It's not something you can learn right away, sir. It takes time."

"How'd you learn?"

"I taught myself." Dexter adjusted the heat on the stove. "It's a useful skill to have." Max reached out to snatch a piece of broccoli from the pan, but Dexter smacked his hand with a spatula sharply. "Don't touch, you'll burn yourself."

"It doesn't look very hard." Max rubbed the back of his hand. "Does it really take so long to learn?"

Dexter sighed. "Why don't you ask the chef?"

"He's asleep."

"Like I should be," Dexter grumbled. Max poked him in the side, causing him to make an annoyed sound.

"You make a better stir fry than him anyway, Dex."

"I don't see why this couldn't have waited until morning."

"I'm awake now, aren't I? And I'm hungry."

Dexter rolled his eyes, grumbling again. Max watched him and gave him a disarming smile.

"You didn't have to get up, if you didn't want to."

"Of course I did," Dexter said, still somewhat under his breath as he focused on what he was doing.

"Why, because I asked you to?" Max kept smiling at him. Dexter didn't respond, so Max decided to keep pressing him. "Why do you do all these nice things for me?"

Dexter made an "mm" kind of sound and kept with what he was doing. Max watched him for a few seconds, and despite the lighthearted smile he kept whenever he was teasing Dexter, his next question came out a bit more serious than he thought it would. "It's because you care about me, right?"

Dexter didn't say anything, simply working quietly. Max watched him for a few seconds, and his smile faded a little. "You do care about me, don't you?"

"Of course I do, sir," Dexter said eventually, although not very loudly. "Your well-being has always been my first concern."

Max watched him for a few more seconds, stared at the dark strands of hair in front of Dexter's eyes. He was still firmly focused on the food he was making. Max rested his head on his hands. "But that's just your job, though, isn't it? You're supposed to take care of me."

Dexter said nothing, gesturing for Max to bring him a plate. Max turned and did as he asked, and Dexter waved him away while he brushed his food onto the plate, making sure to keep him clear of the hot skillet. He put it in the sink and washed his hands.

"I do get paid for it," Dexter said, slowly. Max had already taken a bite (and promptly burned his tongue) and thought that Dexter wasn't going to say anything further, so didn't have a ready response for the odd statement. Dexter had a strange look in his eyes, he couldn't quite place it, but before he could ask him about it, Dexter told him goodnight and went back upstairs to his room.

He tried to pay attention in his dreams, to see if the dream Dexter could cook too, but somehow that detail never came up.

Minor things, time spent idly pestering Dexter and trying to find something to keep himself amused, parties and clubs and the like, ignoring his parent's nagging about how he needed to stop wasting his life and settle down and have children and all of that. Days blurred to months blurred to years and it all blurred together, it was all boring and it was all the same. Even his dreams weren't as interesting as they used to be, and having to think about his daily life instead was a poor exchange, in his opinion.

"I can't believe Mom and Dad aren't even going to be here for my birthday," Max said one night, poking unhappily at a piece of sushi with one chopstick. "It's not fair."

"They were busy, sir," Dexter said, and gave him a look. "They're also not happy you never called Mr. Anderson back about that job."

"Hmmf." Max poked the shrimp off the rice and pushed it around the plate. "I meant to, but I just forgot. Besides, it seemed like it would probably be stressful, and Anderson can't take a joke. It's probably better off this way."

Dexter was quiet for a moment. "Doesn't it bother you, sir?"

"What bother me?" Max picked up the other chopstick and began to see if he could pick up the piece of shrimp.

"How you live your life." Dexter reached over and took his hand, correcting how he was holding the chopsticks. "You have no ambition."

"I don't need ambition," Max said, a bit sulkily. "It's not like I'm unhappy."

Dexter looked at him for a few moments, as if appraising him. He hated that look. "Would you really be happy living this way, sir?"

"What way?" Fumbling with the piece of shrimp. Dexter again adjusted his hand.

"Having people take care of you your whole life." Dexter turned back to his own food. "Someone your age should have a life of their own... a house, a job, a girlfriend. Self-reliant."

"Sounds boring." Max leaned his head on one hand, poking the shrimp again.

"You're not sixteen anymore, sir," Dexter said, a bit quietly. "You're an adult."

"Maybe I don't want to be an adult." Max pushed the bit of shrimp off his plate onto the table. Dexter reached over and took it away from him.

"You are an adult, even if you act like a child," Dexter said, meaningfully putting the shrimp to one side. "Someday you'll have to accept that."

Max pouted in response, and Dexter's voice softened.

"I can't take care of you forever, sir. What would you do if something happened to me?"

"Dex, don't even say things like that!" Max sat up. "Nothing's going to happen to you, don't be ridiculous."

"You can't drive, you can't cook, I'm fairly positive you can't operate a washing machine, you're completely uncooperative with any kind of authority, you can't handle any amount of money, you can't focus on anything for more than two seconds, you constantly put yourself in all sorts of danger..." Dexter took a bite of his own salmon roll, pausing a bit before continuing. "Are you really comfortable depending on me so much? To do everything for you?"

Max poked at another piece of sushi, looking down. "Well, who else am I going to depend on?" A bit petulant.

"You could depend on yourself."

"Hmmph." Max jabbed at a piece of tuna. "I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"Sir..."

"My dream me, you know, the Admiral? I think he likes seafood. I think they're all amphibious, so they'd probably like sushi." Max tried to grab the piece of tuna, and it slipped away from him.

Dexter sighed.

Some months later, Max was feverish and sweating beneath several blankets.

"I'm going to die," he said. Dexter was reading the thermometer.

"You're not going to die, sir," he said, in his usual vaguely annoyed tone. "You have a virus."

"I'm going to die," Max moaned. "I've never felt this bad in my entire life."

"You've been sick before. You'll be fine."

"I want you to have all my possessions, Dex." Max pulled an arm out from beneath the blankets and grabbed at Dexter feebly. "Bury me someplace nice."

"Do you ever get tired of needless melodrama, sir?"

"You're so heartless, Dex, like... like a robot," Max said, breathing shallowly. "You don't even care."

Dexter sighed, in an exasperated way that Max knew all too well. "I don't know why I put up with you."

"You won't have to do it much longer..." Max closed his eyes, moaning again. "Everything's going black. It's all over."

"You're being ridiculous." He felt Dexter press a hand to his forehead. It felt pleasantly cool.

"You're not helping," Max mumbled. "Maybe _you're_ ridiculous."

Another sigh. He was sure Dexter was rolling his eyes. "Are you ready to try and eat something, sir?"

"I don't see the point, I'll be dead within the hour."

"Sit up." Max didn't, since he was weak from being near death, so Dexter eventually pulled him up himself. "You aren't dying."

"I am," Max said, eyeing the bowl Dexter had picked up. "Is that that soup you brought up yesterday? I didn't care for it."

Dexter gave him a look. "It is, and it's good for you, and it's all you're getting since you refuse to do anything but lie in bed and complain."

"You really are heartless, Dex." Max managed to put a hand to his chest in his weakened state. "So cruel to the dying. How do you sleep at night?"

"With all the racket you usually make, not very well. Here." Max opened his mouth and let Dexter feed him, even though he didn't really like this soup, because it didn't seem like Dexter was going to give him much of a choice. It was really a testament to his resilient and gracious nature that he was able to bear such treatment in such a state.

"When I die, you'll be sorry you didn't believe me," Max said, sliding back under the covers and feeling heavy and exhausted. Dexter brushed some hair from his face.

"I suppose I would be, if that happened," Dexter said, a bit gentler than before. "Somehow I don't think you're done tormenting me yet. How are you feeling?"

"Tired," Max mumbled. "Sick. Dying. Could you bring me some water?"

He closed his eyes and listened to Dexter leave and come back. He didn't (well, couldn't, with how weak he was) lift his hands to take the glass, so Dexter held it for him while he drank.

"You really are stunningly useless, sir." There was really no reason Dexter had to sound kind of fond while saying that.

"'m not useless." Max turned away from him with some effort, curling up and already close to drifting off. "I'm an admiral, national hero..."

"You are not." Dexter adjusted his blankets.

"I am, DAX..." Max mumbled. "I really am..."

"You wish you were, maybe," Dexter said, again brushing some hair from his face. "I'm going to turn out the lights."

Contrary to all reasonable expectations, Max did not end up dying, which came as a shock to him. He didn't remember babbling about his dreams to Dexter either (or at least, with more role confusion than usual), and he suspected Dexter made that up. He knew who he was, after all.

But at least that was almost interesting, in a line of idle, pointless days. Days to months to years. All boring and all the same.

Then, one morning, Dexter came to wake him.

"Sir, it's one in the afternoon. Get up."

Well, not morning then, but that didn't change anything. Max stretched out with a long and pleased hum, then sat up to look at Dexter with a bright smile.

"You won't believe what happened, Dex."

Dexter gave him what was almost a confused look.

"I met a human! After all this time, can you imagine? It's wonderful!" Max had never felt this happy, at least that he could recall in recent memory. "He's everything I thought he'd be..."

"Your dream self met someone, sir?" Dexter said, carefully.

"Yes! Isn't that amazing, Dex? A human, after all this time wanting one!"

"And he was... male?"

"Yes!" Max paused, then raised a hand to his mouth thoughtfully. "Hmm... actually I hadn't noticed that, but now that you mention it, he is. Or was. I don't think it matters to dream me though, he's still very happy."

Dexter gave him a concerned look, and he wasn't sure why. For a few blissful hours, Max basked in the happy feeling his dream had given him, at least until that night at dinner, when he found out he was now engaged to someone he barely knew named Katherine, courtesy his parents.

Dexter went to find him after he'd stormed out.

"They can't do this to me!" Max threw the pillow at the wall as hard as he could. "They can't make me do this!"

Dexter stood to one side, watching him. "She seems like a nice girl, sir."

"I don't care if she is or not, they can't- they can't make me do this! I don't _want_ to be married, especially to someone I've never even _met_-!"

"You _have _met, sir-"

"Shut up!"

He went into the bathroom and slammed the door, knocked over everything he could get his hands on as loudly as possible, then slumped against the door shivering with rage. He spent the rest of the night trying to convince Dexter that he was not crying. The strength of his anger at this turn of events surprised him.

He woke up in bed, somehow. Apparently Dexter had opened the door and put him there after he'd eventually fallen asleep.

This was not fair. He didn't want this. On so many levels, he did not want this. The happiness of his dream self mocked him now. _He_ had what he wanted. This was not what Max wanted.

He tried the silent treatment for a while, but his parents seemed unmoved. Then when Max tried to explain why he wasn't going to do this, why he didn't _want_ to do this, it was like his parents weren't even listening to him. Nobody was listening to him. He _hated_ feeling like this, when his parents treated him like an object they could do with as they pleased. What right did they have to arrange his life for him, to make him do something like this? If they were really so concerned about him living life on his own, they could have let him live his own life. He didn't believe for a second that this was "for his own good."

He pointedly sulked for some time, refusing to speak to his parents unless forced, and even then only in single word answers. It didn't seem to make much of a difference, as the engagement seemed no closer to being called off. Very little he did seemed to make a difference, and he hated that that seemed to be a pattern throughout his life. When his mother told him that Katherine was on the phone and wanted to talk to him, he said he'd take the call in his room and then hung up when he heard Katherine's voice. It was worth having his mother yell at him for the rest of the night.

Somehow, he was still engaged to someone he barely knew. No agency. No choice. Not only that, but Dexter wasn't being very supportive either, which was like rubbing salt in his wounds. As much as he begged Dexter to help him, appeal to his parents for him, _do_ something about this, all Dexter did was shake his head in that kind of disappointed way that Max so disliked. God, no one understood him. No one cared about how this made him feel.

His parents insisted that the two families have a nice dinner together, to get to know each other better. After Dexter dragged him out of the bathroom where he'd tried to barricade himself inside and forced him to wear something nice and brush his hair, Max's parents warned him that any misbehavior tonight would be severely punished.

Max told Katherine she'd be better off married to a handbag.

Admittedly, he said it primarily out of spite, but it broke up the evening rather masterfully, he thought, for something he hadn't exactly planned. His parents were furious. Katherine seemed surprised and perhaps hurt for some reason. Both families demanded an apology. Max didn't want to put up with any of this anymore. None of this was fair. None of this was fair at all. Even Dexter looked at him disapprovingly, disappointed in him, expecting better. What was he supposed to do? How could he do that to him?

He stood up and ran out of the room, ignoring his parents yelling after him, and then somehow he didn't stop. He wrestled with the front door, pulled it open, and kept going.

He ran until his sides hurt and he was breathing too hard to keep going. He leaned over on his knees to try and catch his breath. Running that far and that fast... he must have been a good distance away now. He felt like he was going to be sick.

Someone grabbed his upper arm hard enough to bruise, and he gasped in surprise and tried to bolt again. Dexter's grip was unbreakable, and Max fought against him as best he could, as exhausted as he was.

"Let go of me-" Max gasped through heaving breaths. "Let go- let go of me- I won't- I won't do this-"

Dexter yanked him back hard enough to make him yelp, and grabbed his other arm. He shook him hard, his voice sharp and angry. It was enough to startle him into being still. "You can't run forever, sir. You're going home."

He was frustrated, overwhelmed, helpless, trapped, and Dexter was _shaking_ him, of all things, and he ended up dissolving into angry tears.

"I don't want to, you can't- you can't make me do this-"

"Do I have to carry you back, sir, like a child?" Dexter gave him a hard shake, and Max hung his head and tried to breathe through heaving sobs. "You know I will."

"Don't make me go back, Dex, please, I-I can't, I don't... I don't want to get married, I don't even like her-"

"Your parents are _furious_, and Katherine's more so, because you can't behave like an adult for even one night. I don't even know what they're going to do to you when you get home."

"Please, please let me go, Dex, please don't take me back..." He couldn't bear to look at Dexter, staring at the ground and trying to catch his breath.

Dexter turned away from him, yanking Max painfully along with him to follow, and started walking back towards the house. "Grow _up_, sir."

For a while, Max stumbled along behind him, still pleading for him to let him go, and then when the gates came back into view, he again tried to break away from him to run. Dexter growled a bit in frustration, and true to his word, he fought Max until he was near enough to get good hold of him, and slung him over his shoulder, still kicking and carrying on. Max wasn't stupid enough to hit Dexter to try and get him to let go, and his energy was nearly spent anyway. He struggled feebly, desperate, then just gave up, hanging miserably and sniffling every now and then.

This all was so unfair.

The next morning, he stayed in bed as long as he could, covers pulled over his head and completely, abjectly miserable. His dream self had spent his time pining over his new love, content and cheerful. It wasn't fair.

"Sir, are you awake?" Dexter's voice was surprisingly gentle.

Max decided not to say anything. He heard Dexter set something down on the night stand by his bed.

"I brought you something to eat. I thought you'd be hungry. You rarely get so much exercise in one night." As close to a joke as Dexter ever came. Max curled up further beneath his covers.

He heard Dexter sigh somewhat.

"I'm sorry for being so short with you last night. I didn't expect you to do something like that. You caught me off-guard." A pause. "I understand this is difficult for you, and I don't blame you for being angry. This is a lot to suddenly ask of you, and I don't think it will have the desired effect your parents had hoped for. There's little to be done about it now, though. You'll simply have to adapt to it, sir."

Max didn't say anything.

There was another pause, and he could hear Dexter adjusting whatever was on the tray he'd brought up. "Besides, I'll still be with you, sir. When you're married. I don't think she'll be able to manage you as well as I can."

Max hated the fact that he knew Dexter well enough to know what he was trying to say.

"Try to eat something, sir." And then he heard Dexter leave.

He eventually got up, sore and aching, his shoulder still bruised, and he went to look through his dream notebooks. His dream life sometimes felt more real than his current one. More than anything he wished he could take his dream self's place. At least _he_ never had to go through something like this. _His_ life didn't seem nearly as hard.

Max sat and traced the letters of the page of names, running his fingers over Dexter's for a long time. Simple capital letters. He wished his life could be so simple. He thought of dream Dexter, his sub-commander, and thought of Dexter in the dreams unrelated to his alternate life, and he felt something he hadn't felt in a long time. Something like heartbreak. He'd felt this way once before, he remembered, back when he was a teenager, back on that day before he left for college. Things then started to make more sense... why he felt so strongly about this, when he so rarely cared about anything.

He stayed in his room all day, and Dexter did not come to see him. Probably still feeling guilty about being so unnecessarily harsh with him the day before, and Max couldn't blame him for that. He could wait though.

Finally Dexter came to see him late that night, although from the way he knocked he guessed that Dexter already thought he was asleep.

"Come in."

Max stood near the window, staring outside, and he didn't turn around when he heard Dexter enter and close the door behind him.

"Sir, are you alright?" Professional sounding, as always.

"Come here, Dex."

Dexter did as he asked.

"Yes, sir?" Dexter stood beside him. He was wearing a simple white shirt and sweatpants... he was probably intending to go to sleep after checking on Max.

"Do you remember how I said that my dream self, how he wanted something?"

"Yes, sir."

Max turned to face him.

"I think I want something too."

"What is it, sir?"

Max reached up and took hold of Dexter's face, and for a moment he saw a flicker of what could have been panic across his eyes. Dexter remembered this, and he must have known what he had planned. Max kissed him, felt him hesitate for a moment then move to push him away, and then Max gave into desperation and held onto him tightly, kissing him as fiercely as he knew how.

Dexter made a startled sound through their pressed lips, tried to stumble backwards but Max followed him, refused to let him go.

"I want you, Dex," Max said, breathless as they broke apart. "It's you, I want you."

"Sir, don't, you don't know what you're doing, mm-"

He focused on how it felt more than anything, following Dexter's faltering steps backwards across the carpet, hanging onto him as he struggled to get free. Dexter hit a wall, and Max pressed himself against him as tightly as he could. He was doing it, he was actually, after all these years of maybe thinking about it, it was actually _finally happening_-

"I love you, I love you-" Somewhat delirious with how it felt and how fast his heart was beating, his fingers tangled in Dexter's hair, and Dexter wasn't struggling as much as someone who didn't want this should have been.

"You don't_ love_ me, sir, you're confused." He sounded just as breathless as Max did, and this was the first time he'd ever seen Dexter close to flustered. "You're upset, you, you don't know what you're saying-"

"I love you, I want you." Completely lost in the moment, kissing down his neck and back up again in a kind of desperate frenzy. "Dex, I want you, I want you so much-"

"Sir, no, you shouldn't, stop- _stop-_" Moments of protest that Max cut off whenever he had the chance, he could feel that Dexter wanted this, he knew it, he had to. Dexter's breath hitched when Max bit his neck gently, a pause (a _telling_ pause, Max thought) before he again tried to push him away. "_Sir_-

"Dex, please, I-I, for one night, can we, just once, I love you, Dex, I love you, love me, take me-"

"Sir, I can't... I can't do this, it's not..." Dexter hissed through his teeth when Max slipped a hand beneath his shirt, and he grabbed his upper arm to try and stop him. Thankfully it wasn't the bruised one. "This isn't right, I can't do this-"

"You can do anything you want, anything you want to me, I want you, I want this, I want this more than anything." He situated himself between Dexter's legs, pressed up close and tight against him, kissed him hard when he heard his mouth open to let out a short gasp. He found that Dexter gave little resistance when he slid his tongue into his mouth, although that could have been because he was too surprised to think of anything else to do.

"Mmmph-" He sagged a little against the wall, his hands sliding across Max's shirt uselessly in what was more of a symbolic gesture than an actual attempt to get him away.

They broke apart, Dexter breathing hard and Max still near delirious, drunk on the moment and what it meant, how it made him feel, how close their bodies were. "You can make me happy, Dex, I know you can, I know you want to, I know it, do it," Max whispered beside his ear, shifting again against him to make his point and Dexter arched his back and took a sharp breath. "I want you, Dex, I want you to make me happy, to take me, love me, do everything to me, I want to feel it, feel you-

"Sir..." Pained almost. "Sir, stop, we shouldn't, this is..." He shut his eyes and leaned his head back when Max tried to interrupt him. "Uuunh, we shouldn't... you're not..."

"I love you, Dex, Dexter," he could feel him shudder against him, "Dexter Favin, I want you to, to- I want you to touch me, I want you to kiss me, I want you to- to make love to me, I want- I order you to, I _order_ you to make love to me, in every way you can-"

"Sir, you don't know what you're saying..." His resolve was weakening. His full name, a direct order, he was sure that was part of it. Max had never wanted someone or something this badly in his entire life, and he was coming close to just setting a rhythm against Dexter right there against the wall, he was so desperate. "This is a mistake..."

"I don't care, I don't care anymore, if you don't, if you don't obey me I'll- I'll kill myself." Breathing harshly across his neck, his hips rising and falling.

"You won't kill yourself."

"I will."

"I won't let you."

"Oh Dex..." He felt so warm, almost feverish, and he moaned loudly against him, his body moving almost automatically. "Oooh..."

"Sir..."

"Nnh, God, Dex..." He stared at him through half-lidded eyes, flushed and wanting this more than anything and hoping that Dexter would just _get it _already. "Anything you want with me, anything, just... what are you waiting for?"

That close to pained look flickered through Dexter's eyes again, and Max moaned and he could see that had an effect on him, more than he would have thought. So he moaned again, louder and more shamelessly. "Dex, please..."

"Sir..."

"Please..." Max said softly, repeated with a fading urgency between desperate kisses. He wasn't sure if he was pleading for Dexter or for God to show him some mercy, to let something go right. "Please, please..."

"Sir..." When he found a moment, and Max stared at him, begging him silently. He could see the hesitation in Dexter's eyes, conflicted for some reason about what was happening. If he didn't do something soon-

Dexter's voice was a whisper, almost pleading. "Max, don't do this..."

Max couldn't bear it, what would happen if he let him go, so he pulled him close again and kissed him harshly, breathing hard and hanging on as tightly as possible, and felt Dexter's hands slowly come up behind his back to support him. A step away from the wall, another and Max felt a surge of relief. Finally, _finally_ something that he wanted, something that went right for him. His dream self was happy, so he deserved some happiness of his own. Something that went right in his life for once. This was it, this was finally it.

Dexter led him backwards towards the bed, leaned him back down against and settled over him without saying a word. He pressed him into the mattress with a weight he'd long imagined, his hands exploring his body in ways that made him shudder. It felt different, so much better when Dexter kissed him rather than the other way around, when he stroked along his sides, when he nipped along his neck and at his ear until he wasn't sure he could take much more. He didn't think it could feel like this in real life, that he could feel this way so strongly, want him so badly.

Dexter's hands shifted his shirt until his chest was exposed and Max lifted his arms above his head in submission, but he didn't actually remove it... Dexter simply kept touching him quietly, all without saying anything. Why wasn't he undressing him, how would this work if they didn't get naked and Dexter didn't just, take him until he couldn't even think, until he was just nerves with no purpose, no fiance, nothing but _him_ instead. He tried to pull Dexter's shirt off of him, to remind him of how this should be going, but Dexter shrugged his hands away. Instead he reached down, lifted his hips a little until Max was situated tightly against him, enough to feel the heat through the cloth that separated them, and he moved slowly and deliberately. Max let out a shuddering moan, his arms curling around Dexter's neck, and when he set a rhythm Max followed it without thought or question. Each movement punctuated with a soft "ah" of wanting, and still Dexter remained silent, his eyes shut tightly.

Max held onto him, trembling when his climax came upon him without warning, letting out a strangled gasp in the process. He breathed hard, trying to think clearly again through the rush of emotion and pleasure and affection he felt, and he buried his face in Dexter's neck.

"Oh Dex, oh God, I love you, I love you," he repeated mindlessly into his skin, not even thinking about the words, just holding on to him and this moment as tightly as he could. He could feel it when Dexter reached his own release, his motions stopping and a tremble going through his body, accompanied with a soft "mmf".

He held onto Dexter, incoherently rambling for several minutes, even when Dexter tried to pull his arms off of him. Eventually Dexter gave up and settled on his side on the bed, still without saying a word and his eyes shut tightly. Max curled up against him, practically glowing, babbling and trying to get Dexter to reply. He didn't.

That was how Max fell asleep that night.

His dream self's human hadn't returned yet. He would have gloated about his own success to him, if that were possible.

The next morning, he woke up to hear the shower running. He stretched out lazily, humming a little in the process. Last night's experience was still fresh in his memory... at least, most of it. Some of what he said he didn't remember that clearly, but it had been rather intense, after all. He didn't think it was unreasonable to forget some of the unimportant details.

He waited and stared at the bathroom door until Dexter came out, a towel draped across his shoulders and one wrapped around his waist. He didn't seem to expect Max to be awake, and gave him what must have been a blank stare.

"Morning." Max grinned at him.

Dexter looked away from him, and went to open the dresser. He began sorting through the clothes.

"I don't know why we've never done that before," Max said, waving a hand. "It was amazing."

Dexter still didn't say anything.

"You know, it explains a lot though..." Max ran a hand through his hair, still smiling. "I mean, part of why I don't want to go through with this marriage thing... if I'm gay, it'd make sense that I don't want to marry a women." How easy this was after all! The look on his parent's faces when he told them would be priceless. "It's too bad _we _can't get married instead, huh?" He laughed at the thought, almost giggled, actually. Which was odd, since he didn't normally do that.

"You're not gay, sir," Dexter said, finally. He stood up, holding a small pile of clothes, and headed to the bathroom.

"What?"

Dexter shut the door.

"What do you mean?" Max tilted his head curiously.

"You're not gay, sir," Dexter repeated through the door. "You're confused, and the engagement has you upset. You're not thinking clearly."

That was the last thing he expected to hear.

"Then what was it we did last night then?" Max gestured at the bed, even though Dexter wouldn't see it.

Dexter opened the door, wearing some of Max's clothes. He gave him an even, emotionless stare.

"It was a mistake, sir."

Max held a hand to his chest, stricken. "A _mistake_, you think..."

"It's one that won't be repeated." Dexter looked away from him, and went to pick up a second pile of clothes that was lying on the floor near the dresser. He hadn't even noticed him pick those out. "You're going to be married to Katherine, and you will have children, and you will carry on your family's name."

Max stared at him with his mouth open, not sure what to say. Dexter put down the second pile of clothes at the foot of the bed.

"We're never speaking of this again. Change your clothes."

"Dex, wait-"

But Dexter walked out the door and shut it behind him.

He didn't know it was possible to hurt this much and not be dead. He spent the rest of the day buried beneath his covers and wishing he _was_ dead. It'd be easier.

Married to a woman he didn't love, having children he didn't want, a whole life planned ahead of him and there was nothing he could do about it. He expected Dexter at least to help him, he thought Dexter would be the one way out, something in his life he could choose, an alternative, but it looked like he was wrong again. His life was going to go the way his parents wanted it to, no matter what he said or did.

And even if he wasn't sure if he actually loved Dexter or if he was just caught up in the moment, it really hurt to be rejected like that.

Dexter didn't come to check if he was asleep that night, or come check on him at any point during the day. He was such a liar. If Max's well-being had been Dexter's first concern, as he had told him so many times, then Dexter wouldn't have done _this_ to him.

Sleeping fitfully, Max woke up somewhere in the early hours after midnight and blearily realized what he had to do.

Dexter had been wrong. He could run from this.

He just hadn't run far enough.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max's failing streak continues and reaches new heights.

He didn't have a lot of time, so he quickly threw a change of clothes into his backpack, got his wallet and cellphone, and snuck out of his room. The entire house was dark. Good. No one would notice until it was too late.

He walked out the front gate. When he got far away enough so he wouldn't attract suspicion from anyone at the estate, he could call for a cab and then get away from here for good.

It worked out surprisingly well.

Max spent his first few days living off the loose cash in his wallet (they'd probably track him down if he used his credit cards, he'd watched enough TV to pick that up at least) and going everywhere and doing everything he'd never been allowed to go and do before. Dexter would have had a heart attack. He spent most of those days blazingly drunk, then found someone who would sell him something they said would really make his head spin, and Max decided to spend all his money on that in a spontaneous, free-spirit kind of moment. After all, it wasn't like he had anyone who was going to stop him now!

They hadn't been lying, certainly. Max was completely and wonderfully disoriented afterwards, world shifting and changing colors, far better than anything back home, and then he realized later on in the park (how had he gotten there?) that he had no money for a hotel room tonight. But that was okay, he could sleep under the stars, pioneers did that.

It turned out that that was a lot more difficult than he thought it would be, and a bench wasn't much better than the grass, so Max stayed awake through most of the night and ended up feeling tired and horrible the next day. Which was nothing his new candy couldn't fix, and the rest of the day went by in a mad blur of sights and sounds. No problem.

He blacked out at one point, quite unexpectedly and he couldn't think of a reason why, and woke up to find himself in an alley near a dumpster, somehow still in possession of his bag and valuables. He had no idea how he'd gotten there, or what time it was, or what he'd been doing, but surely he hadn't been here long. Nothing to worry about really, he hadn't even gotten hurt. No problem.

That hadn't ever happened to him before, though...

When he stumbled out and blinked blearily at the sky, he realized he also didn't know what day it was, or how long he'd been gone from home. Long enough that they were worried about him no doubt! He kind of remembered a few days before, then everything after the drugs blurred together. Maybe a week? Who knew. It didn't matter, since he was never going home again, if he had anything to say about it. They couldn't make him go home if they couldn't find him! See if they could make him marry someone he didn't like now!

More days passed, he thought, where he spent most of it in thick drug-enduced stupors, and moments awake begging for something to eat. People could be real jerks sometimes. At least, they felt like days.

He was stumbling around some day or another, wondering when this stopped being fun exactly, and he ended up throwing up and collapsing, weak and hungry and tired. He shivered on his hands and knees, miserable and even the elated, easy feeling he normally got during his highs didn't make him feel any better.

"Hey, are you okay?"

"Huh?"

"You, are you okay?" He felt someone put their hand on his back. He turned to look and saw a young man with brown hair and concerned eyes. Something about him seemed familiar to his addled mind, although he couldn't quite place it. He really hoped that this was a real person this time and not a hallucination.

"Not really?" Max said, somewhat stupidly. Then he realized this was an opportunity. "Can you help me?"

"Help you?"

"I need... I need help, I'm- I'm sick, I need a place to stay and something to eat, can you help me?" Max had once thought he was too proud to beg, but then he found out what being starving and delirious and homeless felt like. "Please, please help me, I don't have anyone anymore..."

"What happened?" The man wasn't walking away, thankfully, and put an arm around his shoulders to lift him up. Max leaned on him gratefully.

"My family, my family they kicked me out." Max tried not to get sick again. Thank God someone had finally decided to help him. "I don't have anywhere to go, I'm so hungry, please..."

"It's okay, calm down." He helped steady him and began walking. "Do you think if I helped find you a place to stay, you could get back on your feet?"

"Yes, yes of course, anything you want..." Max coughed, and held on to his savior tightly. "Thank you, thank you so much for this, I don't know what I would have done without you."

"It's okay, don't worry about it. I'd be a real jerk to just leave you there, you know? You look like you're in real trouble."

"Yeah..."

"My name's Caleb, by the way. What's yours?"

"I'm Max..."

It was the first good thing to happen to Max in what felt like ages. Caleb found a nearby hotel, booked a room, told him he could stay the night there and get himself back together. Max swore he could repay him, but Caleb said it wasn't necessary. He liked helping people, he said.

They spent some time talking in the room after he ordered Max a sandwich via room service. Despite his addled condition, Max managed to avoid most solid information about his real family, making up vague and somewhat outrageous stories about how they'd cruelly thrown him out, although within them were unintentional kernels of truth. He mentioned the arranged marriage accidentally, which got him a very weird look, but he was able to change the subject.

"You remind me of someone," Max said to Caleb as he wolfed down his food. "You look very familiar to me. I don't know why."

"That's weird. I don't think we've ever met before." Caleb shrugged and smiled at him in a very winning way. Max was struck with the sudden, strong thought that Caleb was beautiful, and he wasn't sure where it came from or why.

Eating something definitely made him feel better, but it didn't last long when he realized he was also coming down off his high (they never _lasted_ anymore), and that _never_ felt good. Thankfully, it was a problem that was easily fixed. He fished one of the tabs from his bag with trembling hands.

"What is that?"

"Nothing." No wait, it'd be much better to have someone with him. "No, it's something amazing. It makes you feel amazing. Do you want one?"

"No, thanks." Caleb gave him a disapproving look.

"I'm not, I don't have a problem with it." Max looked at him, desperate not to have him hate him for some reason. "I just don't feel very good right now, it's- it's like medicine, I have a prescription for it."

"Okay." Caleb didn't believe him. Max felt inordinately crushed about this. "Look, I have to make a phone call, okay? I need to let my girlfriend know where I am."

He was somehow disappointed to hear he had a girlfriend. "Okay."

Max took the tab as he watched Caleb leave, and for a moment vanished in a swirl of colors and elation. This really was amazing. It wasn't fair that Caleb couldn't feel this too, after everything he'd done for him. He really should. He'd probably like it. He was just too nervous to try it. Maybe he needed help.

Max stumbled off of the bed and picked up Caleb's glass of water from the bed stand and watched it shift around in his hand. Caleb should really feel as nice as he did right now, after everything he'd done for him. It was the least Max could do, really. He pulled out another tab and somehow managed to put in the glass without spilling it or dropping both. He put it back, very satisfied. What a thoughtful gesture.

He went back to the bed and stared at the ceiling, watching things shift and change. He could hear loud voices outside. Maybe Caleb was arguing with his girlfriend? Maybe he didn't really have a girlfriend after all, or didn't anymore. Maybe he was imagining it.

Caleb walked back inside. "Sorry, she's just kind of worried about me. She really doesn't like it when I just do stuff like this out of the blue."

"You really look familiar."

"You sure?" Caleb went to the bed stand and put down his phone, picked up his glass. "I really don't think we've met. At least personally."

"I know you from somewhere." Max tried to think of where, sorting through vague and distorted memories. Things were blurring into places they shouldn't; he could picture his alternate body, his alien self, sitting at his world, waiting. He turned to watch Caleb take a drink. "I do, I'm sure of it."

"I don't know," Caleb said, a bit warily. "You know, you said your name is Max, right?"

"Yes." How did he know him? Brown hair, warm eyes, his mind kept saying beautiful for some reason.

"So, have you ever heard of a Max Vyer?" A long pull from the glass.

Max blinked at him slowly, a connection made in stuttering loops. "I know, I know, you're... you're that human, you're the human Captain I keep dreaming about."

"What?"

"That's it, you're him." Max laughed. "No wonder you look familiar, no wonder I keep thinking you're beautiful. In my dreams, that's all I can think about you."

"Uuuuh."

He watched Caleb fall to the floor. It took him a few seconds to process that it actually happened, then he staggered off the bed and went over to his side to roll him over. "Are you okay? It can be kind of intense the first time, I know."

"What?" Caleb said, through a closing throat.

"I mean, I didn't want you to miss out, after everything you've done for me. Thanks a lot." Max smiled at him. "You _are_ kind of beautiful actually, come to think of it."

Caleb started choking and seizing. Max waited for him to stop, sure that maybe he was joking, but then he did stop and he still didn't look very good. He shook him a few times to try and get him to wake up, and he didn't.

"Caleb? Are you okay?" Reality was filtering through bit by bit, and he began to wonder if maybe something was really wrong. "Caleb?"

Caleb didn't respond to him.

Max got up and walked around the room a couple times, counted to some high numbers, then went and threw some water in Caleb's face. He didn't respond to any of it, and then he got worried that maybe Caleb would choke on the water and wiped it away with his hands.

The unpleasant thought occurred to him that maybe he'd killed him. That Caleb had a bad reaction to whatever it was that Max was on and now he was dead. Max had murdered his dream self's boyfriend. Oh God.

Max curled up into a ball on the floor beside him and panicked, babbling nonsense apologies to Caleb's body and doing nothing but raising his adrenaline level higher and higher, which made his senses all the more dizzying in their altered state. What was he going to do? What was he going to do? He was a murderer, oh God, he just wanted to thank him, oh no no no

He wrung his hands, ran his hands through his hair, propped up Caleb with a pillow and gave him a blanket to make him feel more comfortable maybe, and he tried to think of what he was going to do if Caleb was dead. He had no idea what to do. How was he going to fix this? Could he fix this? He couldn't fix this. He barely knew who he was.

It came to him in a sudden flash of inspiration. He knew who could fix this. He flicked open his cellphone and looked down the list of numbers, and he pressed send. It took him a try or two before he got the right one.

"Max?! Is this you? Where are you?!" Dexter's voice came over the cellphone's speaker, urgent and worried.

"Dex, I think he's dead, I think I killed him," he sobbed into the phone, nearly hysterical.

"Max, where are you? Tell me where you are right now!"

"Dex what do I do, what am I going to do, what if he's really, I didn't mean to, oh my God, oh my God-"

"Max, tell me where you are!"

Max stuttered out his location then hung up, unable to deal with talking to him in his current state. He curled into a ball on the bed, staring at Caleb and rocking back and forth. _Please don't let him be dead._

Eventually he heard someone knocking quickly on the door, and he got up and stumbled over to open it. Dexter walked in, took a look around, then walked past him over to Caleb's body. Max shut the door, nearly incoherent.

"I didn't mean to, I-I just thought, maybe he should fe-, I didn't-"

Dexter pressed a gloved hand to Caleb's throat, signaling for Max to be quiet. After a few moments, he took his hand away, tossing the blanket Max had put over him to one side and looking him over.

"What did you do?"

"I just, I got these, this kind of, they're little, and they can make you, and I put one in his water, I thought it'd make him feel, I didn't think he'd- I didn't want him to-"

Dexter stood up.

"He's not dead."

"Oh thank God."

"Not yet. We need to call an ambulance, and we need to get you out of here."

"Is he going to be okay?"

"If we work quickly, he might be." Dexter had little emotion in his voice, completely business. He stared at Caleb's body for a few more seconds, that appraising look Max knew so well, then turned around. He walked over to Max with authoritative strides, ignoring how Max raised his arms and flinched away from him, and grabbed his chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. A few seconds of study. "You're high."

"I-I just, I wanted to feel..." Max had no real excuse, and he felt horrible about it all of a sudden.

"We have to get you out of here before the ambulance arrives, then keep you somewhere safe until your mother clears this all up. Does anyone know you're here?"

"N-no..."

"Did you touch anything?"

"I... I don't think so."

Dexter tightened his grip on him until it was almost painful. "Max, this is _extremely important_. Did you _touch anything_ in this room?"

He was definitely not in a state to perform well under pressure, but Dexter was deadly serious and Max was terrified by this enough to do anything he asked. He blinked away tears and tried to think. "I... I laid down on the bed, and... I threw some water on him, a-and I had a sandwich and I-I touched his glass... I was going to take a shower but..."

Dexter looked around the room, at the plate on the table and the fallen glass. He walked over to them, pointed at them. "These?"

Max nodded.

Dexter picked up the napkin that came with the sandwich and wiped down the table, the silverware, the glasses, the plate, the taps in the bathroom, and picked up the poisoned glass and wiped it off before placing it in Caleb's hand, angling it to match the dark mark on the carpet where the water had spilled. All of this done quickly and without a change in expression, which was kind of frightening in a way. Had Dexter done something like this before?

Max wrung his hands as Dexter carefully slid the pillow out from beneath Caleb's head, picked up the blanket near his body, and put them back on the bed. Dexter smoothed out the blanket, then turned and pointed at Max's bag. "Is that all you brought with you?"

Max nodded again.

"There's nothing of yours in this room?"

Max looked over at Caleb, felt a spike of loss and longing, and he slowly shook his head. Dexter adjusted his gloves.

"Good. We're leaving."

"What about, what about Caleb?"

"I'll call 911 when we're clear." Dexter walked quickly out of the room, grabbing Max's arm along the way and dragging him along behind him. Max gave little resistance, although he looked back at Caleb one last time before the door closed, lying so still against the carpet. How could he have done that to his dream self's boyfriend? What kind of a monster was he? "We have to go."

"Am I going to jail, Dex?"

"Not if I can help it."

Before they reached the lobby, Dexter asked him for Caleb's full name, took off his trench coat and threw it over Max's head, and told him to keep his head down and stay out of sight. Max watched blearily from a distance as Dexter spoke with the receptionist, his voice urgent but unintelligible. They exchanged some papers and small items, she seemed confused, and he was pretty sure he saw Dexter pull out his wallet, although it was hard to say for sure. Dexter came back to him, grabbed him and hurried him out, and soon he was back inside the same car he'd been riding in for his whole life.

They drove some distance, Max curled up in the back-seat and trying not to throw up. Dexter called 911, told them where Caleb's body was, then hung up and kept driving.

Eventually they slowed somewhere, and Dexter pulled out his cellphone again.

"Are you calling my parents?" Max asked weakly.

"I have to, sir," Dexter said, his voice even. "They have to know so they can take the necessary steps to make sure no one finds out what happened."

"Oh," Max said. "Oh God, I'm a murderer."

"You're not a murderer because that man isn't dead, and hopefully won't be soon," Dexter said, words clipped short.

Max still flinched at the thought, at the memory of Caleb's body and the tone in Dexter's voice.

"Are you angry at me?"

Dexter didn't say anything for a few moments.

"Your mother will probably be angry enough for both of us," he said finally. "There's no need for it now."

"Are you... are you sure you have to call her? They don't know it was me yet, maybe... maybe we could, we could just run away somewhere, the two of us. Just go somewhere they can't find us and, and start new lives..." He trailed off.

Dexter paused for a few seconds. "If you hadn't done this, that would at least be possible. Now there's no choice."

This was all his fault. God, it was all his fault. "Can't you... can't you wait, just a little while? I don't want to go home..."

"I can't, sir. It's too dangerous," Dexter said, not unkindly. "We can talk more about it in a moment."

Dexter made the call, Max covering his ears and trying not to listen, to remember what he'd just done, what he was going to go back to, and he waited until he saw Dexter put his phone down.

"Were you worried about me?" Max asked eventually.

"Of course I was, sir. That's a stupid question to ask," Dexter said, shortly.

"I thought if I told you I was leaving... you'd tell my parents." That wasn't true, he didn't tell Dexter because he was still hurt by what he'd said the previous day, but that didn't seem important now. "I just... I can't do this. I can't marry her, I can't live this life."

"Sir, this_ is_ your life. You have no other."

"I don't want this life anymore."

"You have no choice."

Dexter was right, he knew it, but he wished he wasn't. He'd even ruined his dream life, what was wrong with him. "Can't we... can't we just _go_? Can't we leave? Go somewhere else? Just us?"

"Sir..." Dexter said, his voice faltering for a moment. He sighed. "I can't do that. Your mother already knows that I've found you. She'll be expecting you back."

"You can help me, Dex, can't you?" Max pulled Dexter's coat closer around himself. It still smelled like him. "You and me, we could make it on our own somewhere, a different country maybe, and things would be okay. Just with you. We still have time."

Dexter paused, and he sighed again. "Sir, you've been through and done God knows what over the past two weeks, there's this entire mess with Stern, you're coming down from your high and from what I can tell you haven't eaten properly in days. You're in no state to know what you want."

"I don't want this. I don't want any of this anymore. I don't want to be Max Vyer anymore, I hate this, I hate everything, I..." Max felt frustrated and inarticulate.

"And me, sir?"

"Not you, Dex, of course." Max felt a wave of sorrow at the thought. He had nothing else but Dexter to make his life bearable. "Can't you... couldn't I just stay with you, for the next few days?"

"I intended to stay by your side anyway at the estate, sir."

"No, somewhere else... away from my parents for a while, so I can... I don't know, think things through." Maybe dream about something pleasant, fix things. "They'll just make things worse, I know it. You could help me."

Dexter paused, then hummed under his breath. "I'd consider it, but your mother was very insistent on seeing you immediately. Perhaps afterwards, I'll ask her if we can do something like that."

Max slumped back, relieved. "Okay." It was better than nothing.

A long pause went by as Max listened to the sound of the road.

"You can't scare me like that again, sir," Dexter eventually said. "I was sure I'd find you dead."

"I might as well be." Max leaned his head against the window. "It's not like I have anything to live for."

"Don't say that, sir." It was a moment of out of place sincerity in Dexter's tone, and it was enough to make Max consider his words for a moment.

He'd sobered a good amount by the time they reached the estate, which was a good thing since he by no means wanted to deal with his mother while being unable to sift reality from hallucinations. She'd be stressful enough on her own.

When the car came to a stop, Max considered pretending to faint, thus perhaps avoiding the confrontation for at least a little while, but he had a feeling that Dexter wouldn't fall for it. He couldn't think of any other way to get out of this, short from suddenly dying without warning on the spot and that seemed (unfortunately) unlikely, so he let Dexter take him out of the car without much protest and walk him back inside the house he'd tried so hard to escape.

His mother was pacing in the foyer in her robe, disheveled and filled with frantic energy. Max balked when he saw her, unprepared and now somewhat afraid, but Dexter was behind him and pushed him forward.

"Here he is."

She turned at the sound of his voice, and in moments rushed over to crush Max in a quick and stifling embrace. Max hadn't exactly been expecting that, and was too startled to say anything or react much to it.

"Max, thank God you're alright-"

She then pulled away from him, and when she slapped him he did expect that, on some level. Although that didn't stop him from letting out a surprised gasp and stumbling off balance when it happened.

"I can't believe you could ever be so selfish, so _irresponsible_-"

Max held a hand to where he'd been struck, and decided this was probably one of those times where his participation in the conversation (if one could call it that) was not wanted. His mother was shaking, furious at him, although he could see she had tears near the corners of her eyes. Max glanced at Dexter, who stood to one side with a passive expression as if what was happening was not his concern. No help would be coming from him.

"Do you have _any_ idea what you put us through? All of us? How afraid we were when you just vanished like that? Do you have _any idea_?" she shouted, and Max shook his head a little, still not looking up at her. "Of course you don't, you'd never stop to think about the people who care about you, what they'd be thinking when you'd just vanish for weeks on end without telling anyone- even _Dexter _didn't know where you were, do you know how terrified we were that you were dead? That we'd turn on the news and see our son lying in a gutter somewhere, raped and murdered? Did you even _think_ of that before you ran off by yourself?"

Max shook his head, biting his lip and trying not to blink while staring at the carpet.

"Of course you didn't, you never think about anyone other than yourself, Max, you just- you run away and nearly get _arrested_, put your _entire family_ in jeopardy, and not only us, but that poor man's family as well! Did you even think of _his _family, Max? What will happen to _them_? They're probably in the hospital right now, wondering if he's going to live or die, and it's _your_ fault, because you _had_ to go out and have some fun, who cares if someone gets hurt-"

"I'm sorry-"

"You're not sorry, you're just sorry you got caught and had to come home." She grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away from his cheek, and Max made a quiet sound of protest but didn't look up at her, and didn't try to break away. "You're sorry because your little game is over and you can't keep wandering around the city like a filthy vagrant, spending _our_ money on whatever it is you did out there. You're sorry you're being held accountable, that's what you're sorry about."

Max didn't say anything.

"I don't understand. I don't understand why you do these things, Max." The anger in her voice now laced with pain. "We've done everything for you, given you everything you ever needed. We fed you, clothed you, we sent you to school, we've pushed and fought to try and get you a job, to help you_ live_\- We even found you a wife, do you know how difficult that was? We hoped that maybe if we shoved you out of the nest that way you'd finally learn how to fly, do something worthwhile but you never did, Max. You throw every chance we give you away." She shook him, and Max made a vague unhappy sound but didn't try to fight back. "You refuse to grow up, you refuse to mature, you refuse to be anything other than a wasteful, selfish parasite. We give you everything, and what do you do? You practically _kill _someone. You _almost killed someone_, Max, do you realize that? Do you even understand the enormity of what you almost did?"

"I didn't mean to-"

"Of course you didn't mean to, you never _mean_ to. You just don't think, Max, you never _think_. You're so wrapped up in your self-absorbed little world that you don't think about other people, you never think about your family, _his_ family, you never think about any of that. It's always you you _you_, it's _always_ about you. You put someone's _life_ in danger, I... God, Max, where did we go wrong?"

Max sniffled.

"The only thing you've ever done is make things difficult for us. You don't even realize the danger you put yourself in, put your _family_ in by doing this. You've always seemed so dead-set on disappointing us, disappointing anyone who ever believed in you, but this, this is somuch worse. What you've done to me, to our family... to everyone, even Katherine, despite the shameful way you acted towards her when she was never anything but kind to you, I just-... and even worse, I know that when you ran off that first day with _our_ money, to have fun at _our_ expense, the thought of what it'd do to _us_, how _we'd_ feel, what we'd do, what we'd think, I know that that never crossed your mind. You don't _care_, Max, you've never cared about anyone other than yourself, and now you've nearly _killed _someone because of it."

Max glanced at Dexter, some part of him inside wanting him to come to his defense, but he knew better. He could see disappointment in Dexter's eyes, what must have been a silent agreement with what his mother was saying, and he couldn't blame him.

This was all his fault.

"That my own flesh and blood would do something so stupid, so irresponsible, so shortsighted and dangerous and selfish- I'm ashamed of you, I'm ashamed to call you my son. And maybe that's what you want, isn't it? Sometimes I wonder if you _want_ us to be ashamed of you, to be disappointed in you. I wonder if you're happy being a failure, if it brings you satisfaction. Does it? Does it make you happy, to know how much you frightened us, hurt us, hurt that poor man's family with your reckless behavior, does it make you happy to know that it cost us dearly to keep you out of jail when you probably don't even deserve it? Are you proud of yourself, of what you've done?"

Max shook his head.

"I wonder sometimes if I would have been better off without a son." A mixture of disappointment and disgust. She took a few steps away from him, her hand in her hair. "I never knew you'd hurt me like this. All we've ever done is care for you, we've given you everything you've ever wanted, and this is how you repay us."

"I'm sorry." Weakly.

She shook her head. "I just don't understand how you could do something like this, how you could be so thoughtless. I can't believe you wouldn't think, for a moment, of how afraid we were for you, of how badly we wanted you home, to be okay. Instead, you've nearly ruined everything without giving it a single thought."

She paused, turning to look at him, then took a few steps back towards him. He cringed away from her, but she reached out and took his chin much like Dexter had not too long before. She forced him to meet her eyes, and still Max saw a mixture of anger and relief there, something too complicated to simply be positive or negative.

"Are you happy now, Maximilian? Is this what you wanted?"

"No," Max managed to squeak out.

She stared at him for a few more long seconds, before using her grip to turn his face sharply to one side while she let go. It was a dismissive gesture, and Max wasn't entirely prepared for it and stumbled a bit.

"Well, this is what you get." He'd heard this kind of tone in his mother's voice before, but this was on an entirely different level. There was an undercurrent of spite to it, a sort of I-told-you-so kind of satisfaction tempered with disappointment at being proven right, and Max kept his eyes focused on the floor, shaking. "I hope you're happy."

Max tried for a second to say something, but when he opened his mouth no words came. So instead, he shook his head as feebly as he had before, prompting a disappointed tsk sound from his mother. He heard her take a few steps away.

"I have work tomorrow. I can't deal with this anymore. Dexter, get him out of here."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And don't think I'm done with you, Max." She pointed at him, and even though she was still a good distance away, he flinched. "This is far from over. I'll be talking with you tomorrow, and don't think you can just run away in the night again this time. It's time you finally faced reality."

Dexter walked over to him, took his wrist and began to lead him from the room. Max tried to lean in close to him, escape his grip so he could hold his hand properly, but Dexter pushed him away without a change in his expression. Max made a quiet sound, catching his breath before it turned into something more revealing and again trying to blink away the stinging in his eyes, although it didn't seem like Dexter noticed.

"Good night, Dexter." As they left the room, heading to the stairs. Like Max wasn't even there.

"Good night, ma'am." Completely professional.

Max stumbled on the stairs, weaving a bit, hoping that Dexter would take pity on him and at least let him come close to him for some sort of comfort. There was that and he did honestly feel a bit weak, so it wasn't completely false. Instead, Dexter reached back when Max fell behind and took his upper arm, giving him a warning shake.

"You can walk properly, sir. Come on."

"I-I didn't..." Actually speaking somehow was deeply painful, far more than he expected, and he would have fallen to his knees if Dexter hadn't caught him, for a moment his neutral expression faltering. "I'm not..."

"Come on, up." Dexter put an arm around his shoulders, and at least that way Max could pretend they were closer than they were. Dexter started up the stairs again, while Max held onto his side, staring down at his feet with blurry eyes.

"I'm sorry-"

"Shush." Firmly. "Come on."

When they made it to his room, Max immediately curled into a miserable ball on his bed. He expected Dexter to leave in disgust, but instead heard him shut the door and walk over to him. He sat down beside him and put a hand on his shoulder, more kindness than he'd been expecting and it wasn't even that much (how much did he really need?) and Max felt like crying and tried to fight it.

"I didn't mean to hurt him, Dex," Max said, his voice trembling and broken.

"I know, sir."

"I loved him... or one of me loved him, the dream me did, I know it."

Dexter paused, then rubbed his shoulder gently.

"You should get some sleep, sir. You're exhausted."

This was, by far, the worst day of his life.

The last dream he remembered, the last thing he remembered, were flashing teeth and whirling claws, and an unbearable, indescribable pain like being torn apart.

Dexter came to bring him breakfast the next morning and found Max sitting in bed, staring at his hands with rapt wonder.

"Are you alright, sir?"

Max looked at him curiously.

"Do I know you?"

"This is no time for games, sir. Your mother is still furious at you. She's waiting for you downstairs." Dexter set his tray beside the bed.

"How did I get here? What am I doing in this body?"

"Sir..." Dexter rolled his eyes and sighed. Max smiled at him, but something about it seemed wrong. He almost looked... older, somehow. "Sir?"

"There's no need for formalities, human. You can call me by my given name, Admiral ZEX, if you like." Max still smiled at him, too wide and like it took effort. "Where am I?"

Dexter stared at him.

"Who are you?" Max asked him, with the same unnatural smile.

Strange.

Somehow Dexter had thought this couldn't get any worse.

Apparently he was wrong.


End file.
